


Lifeblood

by Ciphernetics



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Depression, Necrophilia, Other, STRAIGHT UP NASTY SHIT, can you use blood as lube?, corpse fucking, prolly not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciphernetics/pseuds/Ciphernetics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(I wanted to write corpsefucking, so here it is.)</p><p>The first time dipper ever saw someone die, he was 16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sick Minds Think Alike

The first time Dipper ever saw someone die, he was 16.

The circus was in town, that day. It was only there for a few days, but there had been flyers and posters popping up everywhere for a few weeks before that. And, inevitably, they’d been popping up in the pines family house, too, courtesy of Mabel. Every day before school, Mabel would loudly (unsubtly) daydream about what it would be like to go. Their parents were more than happy to promise a visit, as long as Mabel would stop talking about it. She did (to an extent) but her excitement shone through in the way she bounced around the house after that.

When the big night finally arrived, Mabel was glowing with excitement. She burst into Dipper room, accompanied by the jangling of her many, many bracelets. Her skirt swirled around her as she spun around, arriving at a dizzy stop by Dipper’s bed, where he had been peacefully scrolling through his phone moments before. He’d scooted over to make room for her and she’d whomped onto the bed, face first, and given a very eloquent speech on why the circus was the epitome of human creation and that was why Dipper had to come. Not that she needed to- Dipper never could say no to his sister.

….

The circus was, for lack of a better word, beautiful.

Dipper had been expecting the kiddy kind of stuff he remembered from his youth; animals led around a ring of hay by sparkly women, gaudy clowns that stumbled around the ring dramatically, throwing water around the excited children and exhausted parents, sticky floors and seats covered with the residue of one too many spilled sodas.

But this, this was something else.

Mabel watched in awe as lithe men and women swung through the air, twisting and curving delicately around fabrics and hoops. True to their word, the ‘death defying’ performers seemed to circumvent gravity itself, relying on their skill alone. Dipper watched, enthralled.

Except... one girl.

She was shaking, barely perceptible.

Or maybe Dipper was just imagining it.

He kept an eye on her, though. She was slightly younger than all the rest, he noted. He didn’t really notice her before. She seemed to want to hide amongst the other performers. Maybe she was shy. But soon, she was pushed into the spotlight for her turn.

 A metal hoop lowered into the ring, and she stepped gracefully into it. It began to ascend slowly as the girl began her act, spinning and spiralling as she hung from the hoop with her legs. Dipper can’t help noticing the shaking again. Something nagged at him from the bottom of his stomach, a slightly cold feeling. The girl curled herself through the hoop, more flexible than humans have a right to be. She swung backwards, hanging by her legs again. She lifted a leg, trying to lever herself back up.

Her foot caught on the edge of the hoop, and her other calf slipped backwards.

Her hands scrabbled for the hoop, and a split second later she is falling.

Dipper did the only thing he could think to do.

He shoved Mabel’s head down, holding her with all his frantic strength. But he can’t make himself look away.

The girl hit the ground, no safety nets to catch her. The sound her flesh makes on impact is unbearably loud. Her skull is caved in, deflated like a balloon, and Dipper could see the earthy off-white of bone peek through the pulpy mess that leaked from her head. Her arms were angled unnaturally, and a fine mist of red covers the floor in front of her mouth.

Her eyes were still open, staring nowhere. Her costume had ripped, and her pale skin shined against the dark stained fabric. The screaming started. Dipper blinked. Their parents grabbed for them, clutching their faces to their chests in some hopes that they can shield the twins from the nature of death.

For Mabel, it’s not too late. Their father held her tightly, and she was panicking, Dipper could hear her, but she had not seen. She’s still innocent. It was different for Dipper. His mother smothered him in her arms, but all he can seem to see is the afterimage of white skin and red blood against his eyelids. He absently wondered if he will ever forget.

He doesn’t.

….

Its two years later when Dipper begins to acknowledge it. Countless times he had dreamed of that girl, occasionally waking up in a state that to most is a normal part of growing up but to Dipper is misery, countless times he had cried for her and for himself, but never had he told anyone of the way he thought about her, obsessively. He didn’t even know her name. He didn’t want to know. Knowing her name would give her an identity, a life and family, and Dipper thought that might break him. It’s bad enough that his body reacts so carnally. It was better if she stayed a nameless body, fixed in the forefront of his mind.

Dipper locked his door, something that was habit by now. He went to his bookcase and chose one of his encyclopaedias, the one labelled ‘P-T’. He flipped it open, pulling out a thin folder. Opening the folder, Dipper slides pile of mismatched papers into his hands.

They’re drawings, some of them.

The rest are thoughts, a diary of sorts, interspersed with the occasional attempt at poetry here and there. They’re all about her. Or rather, her body.

The drawings are all similar; the same image of a corpse, scratched in pencil by a shaking hand. This was Dipper’s therapy. Or rather, his self-medication. It feels like it helps, but something in Dipper knew it made it worse. He stared at a few of the drawings a moment longer, before sliding the paper back into place and hiding them away in the encyclopaedia.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

He was painfully aware this was not normal. Nobody should be this obsessed with death. He catches sight of his laptop, sitting unassumingly on his desk, and a thought formed. He sat down and opened a browser, hesitated, then opened private browsing mode. His hands hovered over the keyboard for a moment, but eventually he types. “Obsession with death” appears in the search bar and Dipper presses enter.

The first few results aren’t very helpful- a Wikipedia article, some books for sale, a few blog posts. But then one catches his eye. A post on an obscure forum, a woman asking for help with her husband. Dipper clicks the link and reads her post. Apparently she’d been snooping through her husband’s laptop (Dipper raised an eyebrow at that) and found a bunch of videos and pictures of people dead and dying. She claims that some of them are far too realistic to be fake, and she is worried for the state of her husband’s mind. Most of the commenters are quick to point out how disgusting that is, how inhuman. They make fun of the woman, calling her and her husband freaks, necrophiles, perverts.

Dippers stomach turned ice cold, and he slammed the laptop shut. He drops his head on the desk and sighs, almost a dry sob of air. “Why?” he whispered to himself. He has no answer. He sighed again and decided to go to bed. Maybe he won’t dream tonight.

He does.

…

The twins went back to gravity falls a week after they’d graduated, as a present from their parents. Stan had welcomed them back with open arms, still as showmannish as he’d ever been. Mabel had thrown her bags at Dipper and bolted to the pigpen Stan had helped her build a few years ago. She came back followed by waddles, twice as big now, and his little family. The two piglets squealed at each other, fighting for Mabel’s attention, but she swept them both up in her arms and smooshed her face between them with an overjoyed laugh. Dipper grinned and shuffled his own bags so he could carry Mabel’s as well.

He entered the old gift shop and was subject to a bone-crushing hug from Soos, looking more groomed than he used to.

“I’m so happy to see you again, dude! S’been, like, at least,” he did a quick count in his fingers, “3 years? Aw man, you look so grown up, dude!” he beamed. Dipper smiled.

“Missed you too, Soos.” He dropped the bags by the stairs. “How’s melody?”

“She’s great! I think she’s out with her mom today or something. She said it was somethin’ to do with decorations, I don’t really know. I’m leavin’ all the wedding stuff to her, y’know?”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, I get it. Mabel’s dying to see her, though. She wants to get started on the dress right away or something.”

Soos glanced out the door, where Mabel was trying to fit all 3 of the pigs inside her sweater. “Oh yeah, Mel said to tell her she wants it purple.” Soos stuck his head out the door to yell to Mabel. “Mabel! Melody said she wants the dress purple!”

Mabel pumped her fists in the air, chanting “Pur-ple! Pur-ple!”

Soos grinned and ran out, joining in. Dipper laughed softly to himself and gathered up his luggage to take it down to his room.

…..

Sometimes a change in scenery is a good thing, a refresher for the mind, of sorts.

Sometimes not.

Every single night, Dipper dreams. Every single morning, he wakes up and stares at the wall until he breaks down and reaches shaking hands under the covers.

_Jesus fucking Christ._

Guilt is a strange thing. It reaches in and squeezes your stomach, pulls the blood from it and replacing it with ice. It sits in there like a parasite, squirming and thrashing to make sure you never forget it.

Dipper is guilty. Always. He doesn’t really remember ever feeling anything less than vaguely sick with himself since he first jerked himself off to his own damn nightmares, crying and biting his lip under a burning shower. He’s a good actor, though, despite what Mabel says. Nobody has ever noticed how hollow he is. Or maybe they have, and nobody cares. Same thing. But it’s just one of those things; birds fly, the sky is blue, and Dipper has a crippling secret that he will die alone with.

Yep, just another fact of life.

…..

It’s maybe the fourth night. As a habit, Dipper tries to sleep as little as possible. He sits up reading for hours by the flickering light if an old lamp with a yellowed bulb Stan had let him borrow. The room feels a little too quiet, like its holding its breath. Something about this room, hidden under the mystery shack wallpaper for so long, is… foreboding, for lack of a better word. But an 18year old can’t be expected to share a room with his sister anymore, can he? Besides, he needs the privacy, even if he doesn’t want it.

Eventually Dipper finds himself lying down, scrolling through his phone. His eyelids are heavy, but not heavy enough. He wastes his time on websites he doesn’t care about. At some point the phone slips from his fingers and hits his face, the corner of it knocking his lip against his teeth and breaking this skin. That’s his cue to sleep. He slides his phone under his pillow and turns, settling his head against the pillow as sleep greets him like an old enemy.

….

This… this isn’t the dream. This isn’t anything.

It’s just blackness.

Dipper wonders if this is what it means to lucid dream. He’s aware he’s asleep, but he doesn’t seem to be dreaming, but he... is? Is this-?

It turns white.

Dipper recoils out of instinct even though the blankness doesn’t hurt his eyes like he’d expect it to. He looks around, but there’s still nothing. He’s suddenly aware of the pressure under his soles, like he’s standing on something, but there’s nothing below him as far as he can see. With no other choice, Dipper stars walking forward.

He walks for a while, he thinks. He’s not sure. He tried to check his watch at some point but the numbers turned to ink and leaked down his arm. He shook off the black liquid and kept walking.

He’s lost in his thoughts, in the steady rhythm on his feet thumping against nothing, when a voice remarks “It’s been a while, huh, kid.”

Dipper doesn’t falter in his steps, but glances out the corner of his eye. Bill’s there, strolling alongside him for all the world like the two of them are old friends.

“Yeah, it has,” He sighs, “You here for a reason? Gonna try and offer me a deal or something?”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Bill hums. “Just thought I’d check up on my favourite bag of flesh and hormones!”

“Your favourite? Golly.” Dipper smirks. Bill launches himself off the ground and swings over to float in front of Dipper while he’s walking.

“You betcha! Besides, it gets pretty lonely in the mindscape without someone fun to hassle. Can’t exactly do whatever I please in this town, y’know. Least not without the proper summoning.” He idly twirled his cane around. ”There’s a few… restrictions, shall we say.”

“Hm?”

“Anyway, there’s something I wanted to ask you about.”

Bill pushed lightly against Dippers chest with one hand to get him to stop walking, and waved the other behind him. A familiar scene began to form. A hoop swung high in the air, suspended by nothing. It revolved slowly, and by the time it turned around there was a figure siting in it, pale and insubstantial, flickering like a candle flame. Dipper felt his stomach contract violently, forcing bile into his throat. He jerked back, away from Bills hand.

“I-I-I- I can- I don’t- please-“

Bill shushed him, looking almost pitying.

“Don’t get too worked up yet, Dip. It’s just about to get interesting.”

The girl ran her hands gently up the sides of the hoop as it slowed to a stop. She stretched out her legs, gracefully bowing her back. The, sharply, her face turned towards Dipper. Her expression was blank, mask like, but the way she started at him made Dipper’s throat constrict. Then, without warning, she let go of the hoop and allowed herself to fall.

Dipper jerked forward, out of instinct, but Bill’s hand held him back. She fell forever, and when she hit the ground a shudder wracked Dipper’s body. He didn’t look away, though. He never does.

Bill turned back to Dipper with an expression Dipper could only equate to raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing new to you, though, is it.” Dipper looked away.

“Dipper, I’m talking to you,” Bill said. His tone was cheery but the underlying threat was clear. He reached out to grip Dipper’s chin in impossibly strong fingers and firmly turned Dipper’s face back to his own.  Dipper made a few aborted attempts at talked before he finally choked out an “I’m sorry”.

“Kid,” Bill hummed, “I don’t wanna hear you apologizing. That’s not why I’m here. If you put that neat little mind of yours to work for a second, you might be able to guess why I am, though.”

Dipper shook his head. Rather, he tried to. After a moment of weak struggling, Bill let Dipper pull his face away.

“I- I don’t know,” he croaked.

“Let me give you another glaring hint, then.”

Bill suddenly pointed downwards, and Dipper’s eyes followed. The girl’s body was lying at his feet, below where Bill was hovering. Her skin was just as white as Dipper remembered. He stumbled back and ended up tripping over his own apprehension, landing somewhat painfully on his side. He scrambled to sit up and scooted back a bit more.

“Oh, god,” he gasped.

Bill landed on his feet between Dipper and the body, and tossed his cane somewhere to the side. He gestured to the limp form behind him.

“Obviously, I wasn’t there when whatever this was happened, but the second you set foot back in gravity falls I noticed. Kid, the distress you’re putting out is so freaking loud I couldn’t not. So, naturally, a little visit was in order.” He strolled over to the corpse and prodded at it, at a rupture in the skin of her hipbone. His fingertips came away glistening. Dipper stared at them. And stared. And tried to look away. (And failed.)

“I watched you for a few nights. You dream the same almost every night, you know?” Dipper nodded weakly. Bill continued. “Of course you know. Anyway. I don’t come across something like this every day. I mean, not in someone interesting. So!” He clapped his hands together, “Let’s talk.”

“I really... I really don’t want to. Please.” Dipper mumbled.

“Mmnope! So, why this girl specifically?” Bill chirped.

“She’s... I saw her die, a couple years ago. At a circus. She slipped, I guess, and I didn’t really think to look away. I... I dreamed about her a lot after that.”

“And, let me guess, 16-year-old boy, hormones running wild, you see something that sticks with you, things start to mush together, yadda yadda yadda. And now you’re a sexual deviant!” Bill beamed at him.

Dipper slumped down, feeling inexplicably tired. “I know,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean for it- for any of this to happen. I didn’t want this.”

“Why not?”

Dipper stared at Bill. “Because- it’s not right it’s sick, it’s wrong! It’s disgusting!” His voice grew louder with each word until he was practically shouting. Bill rolled his eye.

“By whose definition? It’s not like you’re hurting anyone.”

Dipper shook his head and pointed to the corpse on the ground.

“It’s her. She’s not just a fantasy, Bill,” he spat, “She was a real person. She had a family, friends, a life! And I- all I ever think about her is... is… Oh, god.” Dipper shuddered and hugged his legs. Right now the guilt was still doing a good job of keeping any other feelings in check, but Dipper could feel the spark that shivered up his spine at his own words and it scared the fuck out of him. 

Bill hummed to himself, looking thoughtful.

“Is that really it? In that case, I have an idea.” Bill made some kind of motion with his finger, like he was spinning something. The body behind him rose- it stood up, but in such a jerky way it looked like it was on puppet strings. The girl’s mouth hung open, her eyes half lidded. A thin stream of bloody saliva trailed down her chin and Dipper shivered.

“Bill, please don’t, I don’t want to use her anymore. Please,” he begged. Bill continued what he was doing.

“Shut up, I’m not done,” he stated simply. He darted over to stand behind the body, still wet with blood. Dipper was almost positive it shouldn’t still be bleeding, but it was, thick fluid oozing from a hole in its shoulder where a jagged spike of shattered bone was poking through.

Dipper couldn’t see what Bill was doing behind the girl’s corpse, but it suddenly started to twitch, making him jump. Pale fingers were curling and uncurling spastically, and her- its mouth snapped shut with an audible click. The long, smooth hair began to fall out, disintegrating into nothingness before it even reached the floor. The eyes rolled back into its head, and Dipper could see the way the blood vessels in her eyes had burst, turning white into brilliant red.

Then, the whole thing fell forward.

 Dipper recoiled violently, screwing his eyes shut. A moment later he opened them again and glanced tentatively towards the body. It was starting to stand up again, but it looked… different?

“Well, that was fun.”

Dipper blanched. “Bill?” he whispered. The body straightened up and beamed at him.

“In the flesh! Wait, no. In some flesh! Ta dah!” Bill flung out his newly-obtained arms and spun in a circle. Any trace of blood had disappeared, and the entire shape of the body had changed, from feminine to that of a young man. His hair was black, and a little scruffy, and when he opened his eyes to smile at Dipper, the irises were bright yellow. Except... one of them, the left eye, seemed clouded. Bill noticed Dipper’s staring at reached up to tap his left eye with a black-gloved hand.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the problem with doing this here. Can’t make a functioning pair of peepers, but hey, at least I’m handsome!” With his other eye, the one that didn’t seem to be blind, he winked at Dipper. Dipper scrambled to stand up and approached him, a little cautious, like one might approach a wild animal. (It was much the same situation anyway)

Bill grinned at him, again. (Had he stopped at any point? Dipper wasn’t sure)

“You... you made yourself a body?” he asked.

“In a sense, yeah! I mean, it’s just for show, can’t leave the dreamscape with it, but still fun, right?” He looked down at his new body and whistled. “Lookin’ sharp!” His clothes were simple but somewhat formal; pair of gloves, a white shirt and a pair of black dress pants. Dipper noticed the bow tie at Bill’s throat and couldn’t help the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“What’s funny?”

Dipper smiled and pointed at the bow tie. Bill followed his line of sight and chuckled.

“Yep, couldn’t go without this. Although…” he reached up and swiftly undid the tie, along with the top few buttons of his shirt. “There, that should make it easier.”

“Make... what easier?” Dipper asked cautiously. Bill grasped his wrist with gloved fingers and pulled Dipper’s hand up to his throat.

“Choke me.”

Dipper yanked his hand back like it was on fire. “What?!” he yelped. Bill’s grin didn’t falter.

“I said choke me.” Bill reached for Dipper’s wrist again, but this time Dipper was sure his grip would leave bruises. “C’mon, go nuts!”

“No!” Dipper tried to pull his hand away again, but it stayed firmly in Bill’s grasp. “What the hell, Bill?”

Bill rolled his eyes. “Kid, stop struggling. You’ll like it, I know you will.” Dipper suddenly felt weak again, and his shoulders drooped.

“I don’t understand.” He whispered.

“Yes you do.”

Dipper was silent for a moment. “Why?” he whispered. Bill’s expression softened but his grip didn’t.

“Look, pines, it really feels like you need this. Remember, this is the dreamscape. Besides, you can’t hurt me, not really.”

Dipper shook his head. “I just... why would you do this?”

Bill lowered his head and shot Dipper a lecherous grin. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t enjoy it,” He purred.

Something warm punched Dipper in the stomach and he cleared his throat. “Uh...”

“C’mon, kid!” Bill huffed. He was starting to sound a little impatient. “You’ll like it, I’ll like it, what’s there to lose? It’s just a bit of fun!”

Dipper frowned. “I don’t know, I just…”

Bill dug his fingers into Dipper’s wrist. “GO. Choke me.” Dipper still hesitated. Bill glared at him. “Do it kid! Choke me!” He growled. “I know you want to! Make me shut up! STRANGLE ME!”

Dipper gave in.

He wrapped his fingers around Bill’s throat, tightly, and the smile Bill gave him was so wicked Dipper almost felt a little dizzy. Bill’s hands came up to wrap around Dipper’s and squeezed, digging Dipper’s fingertips into the sin of his throat. The skin under his fingertips was turning white, and Dipper was reminded of the way the water drains from sand under footsteps. Bill’s cheeks were beginning to pink, and his chest was heaving, instinctively trying to draw breath. The smile still didn’t leave his face. Dipper was unnerved, and his head was starting to spin. He realized he hadn’t been breathing either. He took a shaky breath and loosened his grip. Bill frowned at him, breathing hard.

“What are you doing?” he rasped. Dipper shook his hands, stretching his fingers to avoid a cramp.

“I don’t know how to do this. This is so far past the line, Bill.”

“There’s no lines in the dreamscape, kid. Come here, gimme your hands again.” Bill tugged Dipper’s hands back up to his red splotched throat. He wrapped Dipper’s fingers back round and put a bit of pressure on them, trying to coax him forward. Dipper took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and started to squeeze, gentle at first. Bill closed his eyes, and with the last of his breath he let out a long, lingering moan. A punch of arousal rolled through Dipper’s stomach, and he took a sharp breath and tried to ignore it. He tightened his fingers.

He could feel the hard shape of Bill’s trachea underneath the soft layer of skin and muscle, and he twisted one of his thumbs around to push against his Adam’s apple. Wheezing noises bubbled up from Bill’s throat, and Dipper pressed harder. The sinews in Bill's neck strained against Dippers palms, and he dug both thumbs deeper. Bill’s face was sickly red, and tears were pooling in his eyes. Mucus bubbled form his mouth and nose, but still there was that sharklike grin. His tears finally spilled over, streaming down his face and dripping onto Dipper’s fingers.

Dipper started to breath heavily, and looked up into Bill’s face. Bill’s eyes were locked on his, and the intensity of his gaze felt like an electric shock. Bills trembling legs began to give out, and the two of them awkwardly fumbled to the floor. Bill’s fingers squeezed Dipper’s hands, and Dipper tightened his grip. He felt a sickly crunching in Bill’s throat- he must be crushing his windpipe.

Bill’s body was beginning to convulse, and Dipper forced him to the floor, straddling him. Dipper closed his eyes and tried to forget his own guilt, tried to focus on the feeling of the grating crunch beneath his fingertips and the feeling of the body underneath him, desperately struggling for breath. This was…. Amazing. Disgusting. Dipper felt sick with nerves and excitement, and Bill’s unshakable grin was disturbingly appealing. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Bills. The blood vessels in Bills eyes were beginning to burst, turning them vivid crimson. Dipper closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he choked in a whisper. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Bill’s body went limp beneath him.

Dipper loosened his grip but didn’t move, just taking a moment to think. There were no signs of life beneath him, not a single muscle twitching. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Dipper sat up and looked down. Bill’s throat was stained with plum-coloured bruises, and a few spatters of blood had seeped from the corners if his mouth. His eyes with splotched red, as was the skin underneath them, ruby half-moons on blood swelling under the skin. Bill’s tears and mucus had smeared across his cheeks, and Dipper thought about the wetness still drying on his fingers. He touched his own face and was surprised to find tears there as well. He rubbed some of the liquid on his fingers, mixing it with the Bills, and it dried and grew tacky as he watched.

The hand on his shoulder gave a gentle squeeze and Dipper half turned his head. Hovering behind his shoulder, Bill’s triangular form glowed brightly. It stung Dipper’s eyes slightly and he squinted. The corpse beneath him must be empty, then. Soulless. Dipper stifled a hysterical laugh at the idea that Bill had a soul.

“You did great, kid.”

Dipper nodded faintly and looked back down. Bill ran his hand up the back of Dipper’s neck and a trail of goosebumps followed.

“You looked good killing me. Amazing, even.” He purred into Dipper’s ear.

Dipper shifted slightly, intending to get up, and a heaviness between his legs became apparent. Now that he’d noticed it, his cock throbbed uncomfortably, begging for attention. The realization was almost too much and Dipper let out a sob, bowing his head. Bill cupped the sides of his face and rubbed gently circles onto his temples. “Don’t get up yet. Just listen to me, and do what I say.” He murmured. Dipper took a broken breath.

 “What do I do?” he rasped.

“Undo your jeans. Slowly.”

Dipper had no fight left in him.

He reached down to unbutton his pants with weak fingers.

“Good boy,” Bill encouraged, “pull yourself out.”

Dipper pulled down the elastic of his underwear and his cock pushed up to settle against his stomach, rosy and twitching. He ran a loose fist down the shaft, and felt a pressure on his shoulder

“Don’t use your hands,” Bill said, reaching down to tug Dipper’s wrist back up.

“Then what do you want?” Dipper snapped. If Bill heard the sullen tone, he ignored it.

“Use my body.”

Dipper blinked.

“What?”

Bill leaned up to Dipper’s ear.

“I want you to use my corpse to get yourself off.” He growled. Dipper’s skin prickled, and a cross between a moan and a gasp clawed its way out of his throat.

“I- I can’t do that!”

“Yes you can,” Bill murmured. “You killed this body, you strangled it with your bare hands. Its windpipe is crushed, did you realize? You did that. It belongs to you now.”

Dipper’s cock twitched at the low hum of Bill’s words. A tiny drop of liquid beaded at the head. A thousand words raced through his mind and he said none of them.

“Shift back and lean forward, elbows around the head.” Bill instructed. Dipper hesitated and Bill gave him a sharp pinch on the arm. Dipper flinched and started to move.

“Hang on, kid.”

Dipper froze and looked up at Bill. Bill reached down and, in one violent motion, ripped the corpse’s shirt apart. Buttons spun away, disappearing to who knows where, and the shirt opened to reveal a pale, hairless chest. Dipper stared at the lithe body, trying to figure out why it seemed so unsettling. With a roll of his stomach he realized it was because there was no rise and fall of lungs. Not a single muscle in this body was moving, and it was insanely unnatural. Dipper’s cock twitched again and he moaned quietly, in either distress or arousal (or both).

“That’s better,” Bill nodded, “Now, keep going, lean down. Elbows around the head, remember.”

Dipper did so, slotting his head into the space above the body’s shoulder to avoid looking into its pale, mottled face. His prick slid along the smooth skin of the corpse’s stomach, and he shuddered. The body was still retaining heat, it would for a while, but the surface of the skin felt vaguely chilled, like someone who’d been outside in the cold.

Dipper’s hips twitched forward, creating a spark of friction. Somewhere above him, Bill made an approving noise, and Dipper took that as permission. He rolled his hips, sliding his cock slowly along the smooth, motionless stomach.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed, and Bill must have heard him, because he replied.

“Later.”

A spark shot down Dipper’s legs and he sped up, thrusting harder. Precum leaked from his tip, dribbling down and leaving a trail that connected him to the body below him. On an impulse, he turned his head, burying his face in the messy black hair. It smelled like pine needles ( _is that supposed to be funny?_ ) and something bitter. Dipper panted heavily. His breath ruffled the corpse’s hair.

“Dipper.”

Dipper ignored him.

“DIPPER.”

Dipper couldn’t ignore the hand in his hair, pulling him painfully up. Bill gave him a stern look.

“That’s enough of that for now, okay?”

A mix of emotions swirled in Dipper’s mind. Relief, disappointment… but not regret, it seemed. ( _Maybe later._ )

“I don’t know how to,” Dipper hesitated, “I think I should thank you? I…” Bill held up a hand.

“Whoa, hold your horses, kid! We’re not done yet!” he said brightly. Dipper gave him a confused face, but otherwise said nothing. Bill trotted over to where Dipper was sitting on his body’s stomach. “Scoot,” he gestured for Dipper to move away. Dipper clambered off with shaky legs, cock still hard and exposed. Bill began to tug the dress pants down, and Dipper paled.

“No, no no no I can’t, I-“  Bill interrupted him.

“Shoosh, you’ll be fine. Besides, I think a certain part of you is all too happy to participate,” he waved at Dipper’s flushed erection. “Besides, we’ve come this far.”

He pulled the dress pants off, along with the shoes and socks, and tossed them away. He stepped into the air and floated to the side with a flourish.

“All yours, kid!” 

Dipper scowled but shuffled over and settled on his knees between the corpse’s legs. Slowly, he stripped down, folding his own clothes neatly and setting them aside. He looked back at the body on the floor. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed so much more... real.

Dipper’s stomach shrank icily, and he clenched his fists.

“I don’t think I can,” he mumbled.

Bill floated over to him and put his hand on the back of Dipper’s neck, like before. Dipper relaxed into the touch, just slightly. ( _Is this what Stockholm syndrome feels like?_ )

“You might not feel like you can, but I think you can.” Bill murmured reassuringly. “I think you need to.”

With effort, Dipper loosened his fingers and settled his hands on the corpse’ calves, carefully sliding its legs apart. He decided to get the weirdest part over with.

Bill’s body had obviously been male, but now it was just so confronting. The body’s penis was flaccid, obviously, and average sized. Overall, not too offensive. It sat there listlessly, and Dipper wasn’t sure what to think of it. He looked up at Bill, and Bill just flicked his eye between Dipper’s face and the corpse.

Gingerly, Dipper pushed the legs apart a little bit more, and ducked down to inspect a little closer, a blush spreading across his cheeks. It certainly seemed… clean, down there. Not unattractive, he supposed. Dipper had a fair idea of how this worked, but a thought struck him.

“Uhm...”

“What’s wrong?”

“I, well... I mean, how am I supposed to, Y’know,” he gestured to the corpse’s privates, “without…” his voice get a lot smaller, “lube?”

“Oh yeaaah!” Bill seemed to realize that was a necessity.

“Here,” he reached forward and one of his hands elongated into what looked like razor sharp claws. In a swift motion he slashed them over the bruised ring around the throat. The flesh opened like a glistening red mouth, and blood bubbled out of it, streaming down the sides. “Use this.”

Dipper leaned over and retched onto the ground, but there was nothing but bile his stomach to begin with, so he just spat out the bitter saliva.  Bill held up his hands defensively, the claws having disappeared.

“Whoa, hey! You okay there?”

Dipper nodded and wiped his mouth.

“Sorry, just… a bit sudden.”

“Oh.” Bill sounded apologetic. “Sorry.”

Dipper crossed his legs and hung his head in his hands. “God, Bill, I can’t use- I can’t fucking use b-blood,” he stumbled on the word, “as lube!”

“Sure you can!” Bill stepped onto the corpse’s chest and stood opposite Dipper.

“I want you to imagine it,” he began. “This corpse, this dead body. I want you to imagine fucking it. Imagine forcing your cock inside it, using its own lifeblood as you thrust into it.” The blush on Dipper’s face spread down his chest, and he moaned quietly. Bill leaned closer.

“This body, it’s me. You had your fingers wrapped tightly around my windpipe, you crushed it. The blood vessels in my eyes burst. I couldn’t breathe, at all. My lungs were straining for breath, and I couldn’t get any. You remember how it felt when I struggled underneath you? I know you liked it. And, you know what?” He leaned to Dipper’s ear and hissed.

“I fucking loved it.”

Dipper moaned, louder than he’d meant to, and gasped Bill’s name. A tremor of arousal shook though his body.

“And now, I think you should fuck my corpse.”

Dipper nodded, biting his lip to the edge of breaking, and got to his knees. He leaned forward to cup his hand under the sluggish flow of blood still oozing from the wound on its neck. He slicked the warm, sticky liquid on his cock, and the vivid red staining his skin made his heart falter.

Dipper slid his bloodstained hand under the left thigh and lifted it. It ragdolled in his grip, and Dipper would have liked to pretend he wasn’t extremely aware of the time constraints of rigormortis, but he knew he had about an hour before the body started to stiffen. The thought make his spine tingle, and he shifted forward on his knees, pulling the body’s lower half into his lap. With one hand gripping the thigh, Dipper positioned his cock and slowly pushed forward. The corpse’s flesh offered no resistance, and the flesh surrounding Dipper’s erection was still warm. He rolled his hips in short, shallow thrusts. The blood worked surprisingly well, but the way it smeared across the skin made Dipper think of fucking an open wound. The idea made his stomach clench in arousal.

He moved faster, going deeper. With each thrust the body rocked, and its arms sat limply by its sides. Dipper’s panting was getting louder, and at some point he whispered Bills name. After saying it, it seemed so much easier to do, and he began to chant it. “Bill, ah _, fuck. Jesus Christ, Bill_ ,” he moaned. Bill kept completely silent, but Dipper was almost sure he heard a barely-discernible moan.

Dipper’s legs were starting to shake, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. He thrust faster, feeling the tingles that slowly travelled up his legs and curled in his stomach. He was close. Dipper opened his eyes and started at the body, at the way it was jerking back with every thrust; at its ragdoll limbs and its head lolling backwards, exposing that gaping red wound; at the way the blood stained every surface it touched, marring that beautiful pale skin.

It was disgusting.

It was perfect.

Dipper’s muscles contracted as his orgasm rocked through him. He curled inwards, shaking. His breath caught in his throat, but he heard himself gasp Bill’s name again. He thrust slightly, riding out the waves of pleasure that seemed to last too long.

After he was spent, Dipper slumped over the body to catch his breath. His cheeks felt hot and his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat.

Eventually he drew back, and winced at the way his softening cock slid wetly out of the corpse’ hole. He shoved it off him, and sat back. Bill was still there, just floating alongside.

“Oh, look at that,” he pointed, “that’s beautiful. And kinda gross.” Dipper looked down at where Bill was pointed and grimaced. His come was leaking from the corpse, mixing pink with the blood. Dipper leaned back to lie down and put an arm over his eyes. He noticed he’s cried again at some point- there were still tears sitting on his cheeks. That’s a little discouraging.

“How do you feel?” Bill asked softly.

“Why do you care?” Dipper mumbled back.

“I just wanted to make you feel better. I like you, kid.” Bills voice almost held a note of tenderness.

_(Almost.)_

Dipper smiled and sat up.

“I’m fine. In shock, maybe. This is a lot to deal with.” He sighed.

“Mmhm. Tired?”

“Yeah,” Dipper laughed. Bill made a motion with his hand, like a flat wave, and the body disappeared, along with the blood on Dipper’s hands and lower half. Dipper realized he was still naked and hastily pulled on his underwear and jeans. Bill smirked.

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel fine when you wake up.” He pulled a pocket watch from nowhere and checked it, “Not too long now, actually.”

“Oh.” Dipper tapped his fingers in his thigh, suddenly feeling awkward as fuck.

“So… Um. I... Bill, I really don’t know what to say now,” he stammered.

“Say whatever you like. Or say nothing.” Bill shrugged.

Dipper thought for a moment.

“I think... I want to thank you. I think I’m still in shock, a little bit, but I feel... lighter, somehow.” He hesitated, and continued. “I don’t know if things, how I feel, are going to change, but it feels like they might, somehow. I... I hope they do.”

Bill rested a hand on his shoulder.

“See how you feel in the morning.” He said.

“… Hey, Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you do this? Is there a catch?”

Bill chuckled.

“Nope. Not for this. I like you, kid, and if I have the powers to stop you from going crazy and killing yourself or something, I will. Besides,” he winked (with a single eye; what a skill), “I had my own fun.”

A grin tugged at Dipper’s lips and he let it bloom, laughing. They say laughter is the best medicine, and Dipper wonders how much truth that holds. The laughter feels clean, like dust inside his heart has been forced out. He reached up to the hand on his shoulder and gave it an awkward pat. Bill retracted his hand.

“I’ll visit you again tomorrow night. Until then, have some fun with your family. I bet Mabel would love your input for that wedding thing she’s doing,” he said.

Dipper raised an eyebrow.

“How do you know about that?”

Bill just stared at him.

“Yeah, okay,” Dipper laughed.  “Anyway. Um.”

“See you later, Dipper.” Bill snapped his fingers.

“Bye, Bill.”

Blackness slammed down like a hammer.

……

When Dipper wakes up, he feels a thousand emotions at once. He sits there in bed for at least an hour, trying to sort through them, but his mind keeps flicking back to... what Bill did. Dipper keeps having to stifle a grin whenever he thinks about the way Bill was treating him. Then, a thought strikes him. He doubts he is ever going to find that girl from the circus as interesting again, because every time he thinks of her, he thinks of Bill instead. A tear or two escapes Dippers eye and disappears into his pillow. He wonders if it’s okay to be sick if you have someone to be sick with.

_We’ll see, I guess._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OH LOOK THERE'S ANOTHER ONE.

Dipper rubbed the ashes between his fingertips.

There’s no real reason to be doing this at 3 am, but for some reason it had to be tonight. Dipper had felt like he just couldn’t sleep until he’d done this.

He held the last scrap of paper up. He took them everywhere- not that he wanted to look at them, but the crippling fear of being found out when he wasn’t there to stop it was a great motivator. This was one of the first drawings he’d done. The lines sketchy and light, barely a recognizable shape. Dipper’s hands had been shaking badly when he’d drawn it, he remembered that. He felt that old stab of guilt and flicked the lighter in his other hand.

Holding the pinprick of flame to the corner of the paper, Dipper watched as the edges burnt, curling and cracking into black ash. Her face was the first to disintegrate. When it got too close to his fingers, he dropped it into the ashy bin.

 It wasn’t much, just a small metal trash can he’d found in Stan’s office. The only stuff in there was some crumpled papers, and now a pile of ash. Three years of scribbled drawings, of tear-stained words; three years of misery and the only thing Dipper had to show for it was a pile of dust.

He sighed and rubbed his fingers on his pyjama pants. They left soft grey smudges and he patted at them, trying to shift them before giving up.

Dipper was tired. He was so, so tired. Not because He’d been up most of the night (although that was part of it) but because he couldn’t stop _thinking._ The last few days felt like they’d been life changing, and at the same time nothing changed. He still got up every morning , just a little earlier than Mabel, and chipped in a few hours at the gift shop before doing whatever Mabel asked him to do. (Although he did now know the difference between a cocktail dress and an evening gown. Useful.)

Something was different into Dipper, though. Mabel was the first to notice, almost the minute he woke up from Bill’s… visit.

“Hey, Dipdop!” Mabel was already eating a bowl of what appeared to be a _whole box (?!)_ of cereal when Dipper walked into the kitchen, still pleasantly hazy. “Woah,” she gasped dramatically. “Someone stole your luggage!”

Dipper was just awake enough to manage an inquisitive “Enh?”

“Your eyes, my sibling!” Mabel declared, pointing dramatically at Dipper’s face. “They are free of their burden, a wonder not seen since the days of old! Behold,” she said, gesturing around the room, “this oddity!”

“Who are you talking to?”

Mabel flopped back down in her seat and shovelled a spoon of ‘probably sugar’ brand cereal into her mouth.

“Y’aint got no bags under dem eyes, Brorimer!” she swallowed her mouthful and smiled at him, “I hardly ever see you looking this... well, happy anymore.” The hint of sadness the crept into her words struck Dipper like an arrow through the heart. He slid some bread into the toaster and pushed the button, then moved around the table towards Mabel.

“Dipper? Whaaat are you doing?” she questioned. Dipper didn’t reply. Leaning down, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin of her head.

“I love you, Mabes,” he mumbled. Mabel reached up to pat his arm, still vaguely confused.

“I love you too, brotato, but… what’s this about?”

“I-“ Dipper’s voice hitched quite suddenly. Dangit, emotions! He hid his face in her hair to muffle his voice. It smelled like pineapple jelly, and his heart ached. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love you so much, I’m so sorry.” His voice was starting to tighten in that tell-tale way and the prickling in his eyes followed fast. Mabel tried to gently nudge him off her, but he tightened his grip around her shoulders and she gave up, opting instead to intertwine her fingers with his.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I know you have nothing to be sorry for, so stop being such a Sad Sadie and have breakfast with me, huh?” She murmured comfortingly.

“I have everything to be sorry for. I’m not a good person,” Dipper hiccupped, face still hidden.

Mabel wasn’t gentle this time when she pushed him off her.

“Dipper-“

Dipper looked at her with a hint of shock, and the expression was so pathetic on his red, tear-swollen face Mabel’s throat closed for a second. She cleared it and started again.

“Bro, you’re the best person I know. You’re always looking out for me, even when it means you have to give up stuff. I’ve seen the stuff you do when nobody’s looking. Like that time that Lacy girl cheated on you and you didn’t even get mad! You made her breakfast before she left! God, Dipper, who does that?” she laughed, and her voice got softer.

“Do you remember that time you found that stray dog and brought him home? He ate a whole block of chocolate, and you stayed up with him all night to take care of him. I got up and found you both asleep on the bathroom floor.” Oh, great, now her eyes were prickling too. Breakfast is no time to be doing this.

Dipper sat down beside her and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“I have to do those things. I don’t know how else to make up for it,” he whispered.

“Make up for what?”

“I’m not a good person,” he repeated. “I think bad things. Terrible things. I dream about stuff that would make you sick, Mabel, and I can’t stop it.”

Mabel reached for his hand again.

“I… I don’t think that makes you a bad person,” she said. “Everyone has a super-secret secret. And some things you can’t help. But… you are good, because you do good things,” she said simply.

“And even if you did do bad things, you’re still my brobro. If you were in prison or something I’d bake you one of those cakes with files all up in’em! Or I’d get you out with my grappling hook!” She grinned.

“I have to keep you happy,” Dipper mumbled, softly squeezing her hand.

“I’m happy when you’re happy, Dipper.”

The both of them sat there in silence for a minute.

“I think I can be happy again, Mabel,” Dipper whispered.

“I think so, too.” she whispered back.

She squeezed his hand again.

Dipper’s forgotten toast popped, and the both of them jumped at the sudden noise.

Mabel laughed, and Dipper joined in till the both of them were clutching their sides and wheezing.

_Laughing feels good._

 ……….

 

A couple nights later, Bill visits again.

“You’re sleeping a lot more lately, huh.”

Dipper looked over his shoulder. He must have fallen asleep at some point. His bedroom looked different, blurry and grey.

“Yeah, I guess I have.”

Bill waited for a moment, then sighed dramatically.

“You’re welcome.”

Dipper sent a half-assed glare in Bill’s direction. Bill beamed back. (Sort of; without a mouth, there were a few things Dipper still missed, but he was fairly sure the faint increase of Bill’s glow counted as a smile.)

“Is… this is different. Looks sorta like my room back home,” Dipper said, gesturing to the indistinct room around them.

“Well, yeah. This is your head. Your mindscape.”

 “Oh.” Dipper frowned.

“So… what was last time? With- the white, nothingness thing?”

“That was more like my head,” Bill said, knocking a hand against his hat. Dipper didn’t process the sentence for a moment. Then his eyes widened.

“You- What!?” he yelped, “Your mind? Like, your for real, actual mind.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“That’s insane!” Dipper laughed, incredulous.

“Yes, I am,” Bill remarked. He floated down to land on the carpet beside Dippers bed. Shrinking down, he wandered under the bed, out of Dipper’s sight.

“Wait,” Dipper said, “if that was your head, why was it so… empty?”

“Well, obviously I can’t let you see my actual mind, kid,” Bill’s voice floated out from under the bed. “You’d probably, like, implode. I’m pretty sure that happened once. What you were in was like a spare room.”

After a moment more, Bill emerged from under the bed, dragging a pile of papers behind him. His size increased somewhat as Dipper crouched down beside him.

“What are those?”

“Your secrets.”

“What?” Dipper yelped. He tried to snatch the papers, but Bill smacked his hand away. Dipper pouted and rubbed the red mark Bill had left across his fingers.

“Seriously, if they are my secrets, I don’t want you anywhere near them.”

“Why not?” Bill looked up at him. “I already know the worst one, it’s not like they can get any less embarrassing.” Dipper chewed his lip, frowning.

“Yeah, but... I mean, they’re secrets for a reason, man. C’mon.”

Bill ignored him and flipped through the pile. “Wow, you’re actually kind of boring, aside from the necrophilia. This stuff is _weak_.” He tossed the paper back down and kicked the whole pile back under the bed.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Let’s do something more interesting!” Bill launched himself off the floor to hover near Dipper’s face. He grabbed a handful of Dipper’s fringe and tugged him forward. “C’mon!”

Dipper scowled, but let Bill lead him outside. The outside of the house was off, somehow, but Dipper didn’t stop to dwell on it. Bill pulled him along until they were somewhere Dipper recognized.

“I know this place!” Dipper exclaimed. “This is that secret spot me and Mabel found a couple years ago behind the shack! We even camped out here, once,” he recalled, smiling.

 The trees around the clearing were the same as the house, grey and vaguely flat. They reminded Dipper of paper cut-outs. The grass was a monochrome carpet beneath them, and Dipper squinted a moment before realizing the whole place was deadly still, no breeze to stir the leaves around them.

“So, why are we here?”

“Well,” Bill hummed, “seemed as good a place as any to mess around. ‘Sides, since it’s your mindscape you have some power here too. Go ahead, try it out.”

Dipper thought for a second. Holding out his hand, he watched as a fire sparked and grew in his palm. Bill scoffed.

“Fire, kid? Really? All this power at your fingertips and you make a little ball of fire?”

Dipper glared and him and shook his hand, extinguishing the fire.

“Fine,” he said, “you want something different? Watch this.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Dipper crossed his arms and looked smugly at Bill. Bill pointedly looked around the empty clearing.

Then the rumbling started.

Both of them turned to look as the trees to their left started to shake. A white face emerged from the leaves, followed by an immense body. The creature towered over Dipper with legs like knives. Wooden antlers grew along its back in parallel lines, and its face looked like a porcelain mask. It lumbered over to the pair slowly and lowered its head to peer closely at Bill. Bill crossed his arms and stayed where he was but his eye darted over to Dipper and Dipper realized he was actually _nervous_.

He burst out laughing.

“What are you laughing at?”

“You’re-“ Dipper tried to reply, and tried again, without success. Giggles cut off his words every time he looked back at Bill’s increasingly irritated expression.

“Are you seriously scared of that thing?” He managed to ask.

Bill glared daggers at Dipper.

“I’m not scared of anything, kid. You should realize that by now.” He ground out.

“Then what was with the face?” Dipper gestured to his own for emphasis. “You looked like you thought it was gonna bite you or something!”

The Beast was still standing over the two of them, no movement except for the slight swivel of its head as it looked between them.

“I wasn’t scared, I was just... weirded out!” Bill waved an arm at the Beast. “That thing is freaky, especially considering you made it! I’ve never seen that before, that’s all!”

“Yeah, one of Mabel’s friends made it up, I think. I don’t know what it is either but it looks pretty cool, right?” Dipper grinned.

“Whatever. Let’s just get rid of it.”

Dipper rolled his eyes at Bill’s pouty tone.

“Fine.”

The Beast dipped its head towards Dipper, like a nod, and slowly moved back towards the trees, leaving gouges in the grass with each step. It disappeared into the shadows, and Dipper held back a grin.

“Okay,” Bill said, turning to Dipper. “You’ve had your fun, now let’s have mine.”

Dipper stepped back and rubbed his arm nervously. “By ‘your fun’, you mean…”

“You know exactly what I mean, Pine Tree.”

Dipper bit his lip.

“Let’s try something new,” Bill said. “You already know a couple of the basics of the real kinky stuff.”

Dipper blinked.

“I, uh-“

“Don’t bother trying to lie,” Bill interrupted. “Let’s just get started.” He flattened his palm and turned it downwards. Twirling a finger, the dirt beneath him rose up like a whirlpool until it was as tall as Dipper, a column of grey soil and grass. Bill curled his fingers into a fist and twisted it abruptly. The column shattered, and the soil fell to the floor. In its place stood a human body.

 

Dipper stepped back reflexively. It was Bill’s body. At least, it looked like the body he’d made last time.

 It just stood there, shoulders slightly slumped. Bill patted the body’s hair tenderly, reminding Dipper of the way and owner treats a dog.

“Ta-da!”

When Dipper didn’t respond Bill said it again, sounding huffy.

“Kid. Ta-da.”

“Oh,” Dipper floundered for words, “Uh- good, good job?”

Bill dragged a hand down his face and groaned.

“Idiot.”

Dipper opened his mouth to give an indignant reply but before he could Bill moved over to position himself behind the empty body. A moment later, the body straightened up, and Bill’s newly-toothy grin was directed at Dipper.

“This time we’re doing one of my ideas.” he said.

“They’re all your ideas,” Dipper mumbled. Bill ignored him. He snapped his fingers behind his back, and a few feet behind him thick bars sprouted from the ground, melding together in the middle to form a kind of frame.  Along the top hung a pair of what looked like leather restraints.

Bill trotted over to it, motioning for Dipper to follow.

“What... is this?” Dipper asked slowly, approaching the metal frame.

“You’re gonna hang me upside down!”

“Why?”

“ _Exsanguination_!” Bill beamed, lacing his hands together.

“I... I don’t actually know what that means,” Dipper frowned.

“You’ll figure it out.” Bill lifted gently off the ground, hovering a few inches up. He grabbed the side of the frame and rotated upside down in mid-air until his ankles were level with the restraints, then snapped his fingers again. The cuffs unbuckled and wrapped themselves around his ankles and buckled themselves back up.

Bill looked up with a grin and the second their eyes met gravity returned. Bill hung from the frame, legs slightly spread, and Dipper struggled to swallow the saliva that was building up in his mouth.

“Wa- _ho_ ,” Bill laughed, “this body’s already getting dizzy. That’s a weird feeling!”

His face was only about a foot from the ground, and Dipper kneeled down in front of him. Bill’s cheeks were already beginning to pink, and Dipper guessed that his blood was pooling in his head.

“What do you want me to do?”

Bill made a swirly motion with his hand. A small box wooden appeared beside Dipper.

“Open that,” Bill gestured to the box.

Dipper flipped open the latch and lifted the lid. The inside of the box was lined with a dark golden velvet ( _naturally_ , Dipper thought to himself.)

Nestled inside was a hunting knife and a small glass vial. Dipper lifted the knife and weighed it in his palm, rubbing his thumb on the handle. It looked like some kind of bone, but Dipper wasn’t sure what type it was, or if he even wanted to know. The blade was sharp.

Really… really sharp.

Dipper took an involuntary breath.

“I- What do I do?”

“Stand up.”

Dipper got to his feet with the knife in hand.

“Now,” Bill said, crossing his arms, “start cutting.”

Dipper swallowed.

“Cutting.” He said flatly.

“Yeah, I noticed you seemed pretty fixated on my blood last time, specially after you used it to fuck me an’ all,” Bill remarked casually. “Never had a chance to experience this first-hand, so it’s win win, really.”

 Shame swirled in Dipper’s gut, fighting with the arousal. “Okay…”

He adjusted his grip on the hunting knife.

“W-Where?”

“I don’t care. Just don’t make them too deep, I’m not dyin’ just yet.”

Dipper tightened his grip on the knife, staring at nothing.

“Hey,” Bill barked, slapping the side of Dipper’s thigh, “focus, kid.”

“Right, right, sorry,” Dipper breathed. He knelt down on one knee and placed a cautious hand on Bill’s stomach. He glanced down, but Bill only stared back at him like he was waiting for something.

Pinching the material of Bill’s shirt between his fingers, Dipper gently untucked it from his waistband. It crumpled downwards, leaving a stretch of skin exposed. Dipper brushed his fingertips along Bill’s stomach, watching the way the muscles twitched underneath them. It seemed so… human.

He brought the knife up and flicked it underneath the buttons of Bill’s shirt, popping them off one by one. He carefully avoided Bill’s gaze, pushing the fabric aside.

Lightly, he traced the back edge of the knife down the middle of Bill’s torso. Bill’s grin widened, and he blinked lazily. Dipper’s stomach flipped.

“Can I really just… cut?” Dipper questioned.

“For fuck’s sake, kid, just do it!”

Dipper turned the knife and pressed down, pushing the edge against the skin just above Bill’s bellybutton. It parted cleanly beneath the blade, and blood welled up at the edges like an afterthought. Dipper dragged it downwards, mesmerized by the vivid colour against Bill’s pale skin.

“ _Ah_ ,” Bill hissed through his teeth.

Dipper’s hand was shaking slightly. He pulled the knife away and added two shallow cuts on either side of the line.

“Dipper.”

Dipper looked down. Bill was staring at him with an incredulous expression.

“Did you seriously just cut a cross into my stomach?”

Dipper looked back up. Yup, that was definitely a cross. Dipper cringed.

“Oh my god. Sorry, man. I just wanted to keep it symmetrical, I guess.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “Dork,” he muttered.

Dipper scowled and added another cut to Bill’s skin. He went on like that for a while, adding shallow cuts almost trance-like in straight lines and curves until Bill’s entire stomach and most of his calves (along with Dipper’s hands) were smeared with half-dried blood.

Bill’s face was bright red by now, but he was still smiling, eyes closed.

“Hey, Dip,” he mumbled. Dipper kneeled down again.

“Yeah?”

“Get the vial out of the box.”

Dipper reached down and plucked the tiny glass bottle out of the box.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked. Bill reached a hand up, blindly feeling around for something.

“Gimme your hand.”

Dipper pushed his wrist into Bill’s palm, but he didn’t grab it.

“Other one, I mean.”

The one with knife? Dipper offered his other wrist to Bill, who grasped it and pulled it down to his throat. He rotated Dipper’s hand, resting the knife blade against his throat.

“Go for the big one,” he grinned.

Dipper flexed his fingers along the knife’s handle.

“Are…. Are you sure?”

“Yeah! Just make sure you fill up the vial there.”

Bill let his hand drop again. Prickling raced across Dipper’s skin like dragging fingertips.

“Okay,” he breathed. He gently placed the vial on the grey grass beside him.

He forced the blade through the skin, accompanied by a hoarse whine from either Bill or himself, he couldn’t tell. Pushing it down into the muscle, he dragged it along one side of Bill’s throat. The blade finally severed the jugular, and almost immediately a thick stream of blood welled up and spilled over, like it had been waiting to escape.

The sticky liquid raced down Bill’s neck, around the curve of his jaw. It ran down his face, over his lips and nose, painting his already-blind eye with marbled crimson.

Dipper reached out to touch the wound, stopping short just before contact.

Bill was licking his lips.

Licking didn’t really cover it, actually. His tongue ( _should tongues be that long?)_ practically slithered around his mouth, leaving streaks of blood over his cheeks.

Dipper’s eyes widened and he stared and stared. His breathing was getting harsher, dragging breaths that rattled his whole body. Bill grinned lecherously up at him, and the way the blood clung to his eyelashes made Dipper’s legs feel weak.

“Kid, you gotta taste this,” he wheezed. His voice was already starting to weaken, and Dipper wondered how much pain he was in.

“Taste?” Dipper exhaled.

Bringing his blood-stained fingers to his lips, Dipper poked the tip of his tongue out.

“No,” Bill rasped.

Dipper closed his mouth and looked down like a scolded child.

“I want you to taste it _fresh_ ,” Bill hissed.

“You mean… like, lick you?”

Bill made a barely perceptible movement that Dipper assumed was a nod, but really only had the effect of sending another pulse of fluid down Bill’s face.

“Shit,” Dipper whispered under his breath.

He hunched forward, then pulled back, awkwardly trying several different angles and second-guessing himself. Bill just watched him. Finally his nerves got the best of him, and Dipper screwed up his eyes and leaned forward. He stuck his tongue out, and even though he was expecting it the warmth beneath his mouth was a shock. The sluggish flow of blood pooled on the tip of his tongue, and he shivered.

The taste was so peculiar- familiar, that salty metallic taste that reminded him of scratches and loose teeth from his childhood. And yet, something about it was different. It almost felt like electricity in his tongue. Despite the coppery taste, it was fascinating, almost addictive.

Dipper dragged the flat of his tongue over the wound like he could seal it shut with his saliva. Bill made a quiet growl beneath him, and Dipper felt the vibrations travel up through Bill’s throat.

“Fuck,” he gasped. One of his hands reached downwards to palm his the hardness in his jeans. He used the other to cup the back of Bill’s head, half pulling it towards himself as he leaned forward again. He traced his tongue down Bill’s jaw, following the path of blood. Down, over his cheek, to the corner if his mouth. Dipper’s breath caught when he felt the swell of Bill’s bottom lip under the tip of his tongue.

For a moment Dipper was still as stone.

And then he kissed him.

The slight jerk of Bill’s body was most likely a reaction of shock, but Dipper ignored it and kissed him harder. With each passing second, his confidence grew, and when he realized the weak pressure on his own mouth was Bill actually responding, a small moan escaped him. Bill’s mouth fell open slightly and Dipper took the opportunity to push his tongue in further, licking along the sides of Bill’s mouth. The odd combination of blood and unfamiliar saliva sent a cold thrill through Dipper’s stomach. Blood pooled in the grass around his knees, quickly turning cold. A voice whispered in his ear.

“ _He’s dead_.”

Dipper sobbed and kissed Bill’s unresponsive mouth harder.

A small hand rested on the back of his neck, and, slowly, Dipper leaned back into the grip with his eyes closed.

A bright light turned the insides of his eyelids red, and he opened them. Bill hovered beside him, glowing brightly against the grey backdrop of the forest.

“You have about 30 seconds before it stops bleeding. Fill the vial.”

Dipper nodded and found the little bottle where he’d left it on the grass. Pressing the lip of it against the laceration, Dipper collected as much of the blood as he could. When it was full, he held it out to Bill, who pushed some kind of stopper into the top. When Bill didn’t take it from him, though, Dipper looked up at him.

“You can keep that,” Bill said, motioning to the vial.

Dipper said nothing, but gently placed it back in the box.

“You’re not done yet, are you?” Bill purred into his ear. He shuddered and shook his head.

“Which part of my corpse are you going to fuck this time, kid?” Dipper chewed his lip. “The mouth this time, maybe? No, that’s not quite enough, is it. You want something more, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question, but Bill’s hand gripped Dipper’s hair and forced his head up and down, nodding like a puppet.

“Well I can certainly help you with that. If you know the magic word,” Bill singsonged.

“…se.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quiiite hear that. Care to repeat?”

Dipper cleared his throat and tried again.

“Please.”

“Please _who?_ ”

“Please, Bill. Please.”

The aura of smug radiating off of Bill was almost insufferable.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Bill reached over to the body, and before Dipper’s eyes, his fingers elongated and joined into something that resembled a pair of scythes. They snapped shut around the body’s throat and squeezed.

The flesh was slow to give, and a part of Dipper knew he was doing it on purpose, dragging it out. A horrible cracking sound came from the body, and Dipper winced. That must have been the spine. It looked like Bill had cut right through one of the vertebrae.

After an eternity, the head finally separated form the body fully and fell to the grass with a dull thud. Bill retracted his hand.

“There you go, kid!” he said brightly.

Dipper felt like throwing up. Except he was still achingly hard, perhaps more so now.

Slowly, he undid the fly of his jeans and pushed his waistband down, pulling himself out. Bill kept his eye firmly on Dipper’s movements, and against all logic, Dipper felt kind of… shy.

Ignoring the demon watching his every move, Dipper gripped the body’s shoulder with one hand and positioned his cock with the other. Slowly, he pushed upwards.

Oh, _god_ , that was weird.

The ridges of Bill’s oesophagus were tight around his cock, almost too tight. ( _Almost like it wasn’t designed for this_ , Dipper thought with bitter humour.)

Dipper let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He drew back slightly and thrust upward again, rougher this time. The entire body jolted with each thrust, still hanging by the ankles. He moaned, low and long. The blood on his face and hands had dried, flaking off with each movement.

He fucked the body with long, slow strokes. Bill hovered somewhere behind him, whispering filthy things into his ears and tugging on his hair, and it wasn’t long before Dipper’s edge approached. His legs were shaking badly, and the muscles in his thighs were burning.

“Close,” he whimpered between gasps.

“I bet,” Bill hummed. He dragged his fingers back through Dipper’s hair. “Go ahead, then.”

Dipper sped up his thrusts. His orgasm was so close, so frustratingly within reach, but he just... couldn’t.

“Bill, please!” He pleaded. From somewhere behind him, Bill’s fingers wrapped around his throat, feeling sharp. They squeezed slightly, just enough to be uncomfortable. He didn’t say anything, but the threating feeling was too much for Dipper, and he came.

“A-haah, ah, _ah!_ ” The breath was punched out of him, and he clutched to body closer, twitching through the pulses of cold pleasure assaulting his nerves.

After his body relaxed, and he came back to himself, Dipper stepped back. Bill’s body swung back and forwards slightly, and Dipper’s come dripped from the oesophagus, clouding the sanguine blood beneath it. He cringed and went to fix his clothes up. Oh, jeez. Just like the last time, his entire crotch was caked in half-dried blood. Dipper thanked his lucky stars he didn’t have to clean this mess up.  He felt a pressure on his shoulder, and turned to look.

Bill hovered beside him, leaning his elbow on Dipper’s shoulder like they were old buddies.

“Well, you enjoyed yourself.”

Dipper didn’t say anything, pretending to be busy with his jeans. His face was still burning hot, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was as red as Bill’s had been.

“I don’t know why I keep doing this,” he murmured. “It’s disgusting. _I’m_ disgusting.”

“Yeah, but that’s what makes it fun!” Bill chirped. “But, hey, if it makes you feel better; at least you’re doing this here with me, instead of with a real person or something.”

Dipper rubbed his temples and sighed.

“I suppose. I guess I should be grateful.” He gave Bill a weary smile. “Thanks, Bill.”

“Aww, you’re so adorable,” Bill cooed, “I could just eat you!”

“I hope that’s a metaphor.”

“Sure, why not.”

Dipper side eyed Bill and coughed.

“Um, well, I- I should probably be waking up now, or something...” he trailed off, fiddling with the hem of his stained shirt.

“Oh, I suppose. We’ll do this again soon, though.”

“Oh. Um… okay.” Dipper nodded. “See you then, I guess?”

Bill waved. “Enjoy your present, kid!” he beamed.

“Wait, pre-“

Halfway through the word, the floor collapsed beneath Dipper and he fell into nothing.

……

The back of Dipper’s head was aching when he woke up. Groggily, he reached under his pillow, feeling around till his fingers met something hard. He pulled it out.

It was the vial.

The inside was solid red, not a single air bubble, and the top was sealed with something that looked like black rubber.

Dipper twisted it around his fingers, trying to absorb the information. Was this what Bill had meant by ‘present’?

Dipper sat there for a couple minutes, staring at the little glass bottle before an Idea struck him.

Tucking the vial back under his pillow, he went upstairs to see Mabel.

She was already awake, knitting some new sweater or something and humming along to her mp3 player.

“Sup, Dippertydoo?”

“Can I borrow one of your old necklaces?” he asked. “I mean, just the chain part. You usually have tons, right?”

“Sure do!” Mabel put down her project and stood up to rifle through the glittery jewellery box on her vanity.

“I’ve got a couple extras, if you want.” She held up one in each hand. “Silver or gold?”

“Gold,” Dipper grinned.

“Definitely gold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something's probably wrong with me.


	3. Good idea/Bad idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper does something monumentally stupid. But what else is new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no human!bill whatsoever in this chapter, m'kay

Ideas are odd things.

Sometimes they’re slow to form and quick to fade.

Sometimes they show up out of nowhere and then nag at you until you can’t stand them anymore.

There’s a certain type, though. The kind that come to you in a split second one morning and don’t leave, burrowing into your mind and sticking there for ages because you’ve never felt so _right_ about something.

…..

Dipper absently played with the vial around his neck, tangling his fingers into the thin gold chain and letting it slip free over and over. The cheap little coffee machine rattled as it worked, and Dipper rested his hands on the countertop. He squinted at the morning sun slicing through a crack in the curtains (Sequined floral. Mabel’s doing) and closed his eyes.

He sighed.

A few more moments passed, the thick silence of the morning like a blanket, muffling the rattling coffee maker. A loud click declared the coffee ready and Dipper retrieved it, talking a tiny sip to decide if it was too hot, which it was. He ended up burning the tip of his tongue. He scowled, running it along the inside of his teeth and feeling the odd, carpety texture that burnt tongues always seemed to have. A shuffling noise came down the stairs.

“Sup, Mabes,” Dipper hummed as Mabel padded into the kitchen with bed hair and half-open eyes.

“M… meugh.” She mumbled, reaching for one of the many boxes of cereal along the bench.

“Sleep well?”

Mabel made a very cat-like hissing noise as she poured a bowl of ‘Sugar Slugs’ and Dipper hid his grin behind his cup of coffee. Dipper was no early bird himself but Mabel... hoo boy.

They sat in companionable silence, Dipper flipping through a newspaper and Mabel crunching her way through 2 bowls of sugared cardboard.

“Hey dip,” she said with a sleep-roughened voice. “What time is it?”

“Saturday, Mabel,” Dipper replied without looking up.

Mabel groaned and slouched back. “Oh thank god.” She slouched further down, slowly ragdolling onto the floor.

“I’m hibernating now,” she groaned. “This is my cave and you can’t wake me up for 3 months unless it’s for food and/or cute boys.”

“It’s summer.”

Mabel swiped at his ankle but lost enthusiasm halfway through and ended up with her arm resting on Dipper’s foot. Dipper wiggled his toes against her.

“Anyway, you can’t hibernate today. You’re going out with Melody later.”

“Why do you even know that?”

“What, can’t the best man help you plan?”

Mabel pulled herself back into her chair and leaned her elbows on the table.

“Well, sure, _a_ best man could, but this is you we’re talkin’ about, brodor. You’re, like, the least wedding-y person I know.”

“Yeah, but what can I say,” Dipper replied, flipping the page with a smile. “I’m in a good mood.”

“That’s suspicious,” Mabel declared, jabbing a finger at Dipper. “You’re suspicious!”

“Nope.”

“Yu-huh!”

Dipper lowered the newspaper and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s really not. Now go get ready, sister sloth.”

Mabel pouted again, but the smile in her eyes was obvious.

“Fffffffffine.”

She left the room, treading up the creaky stairs, and Dipper took another sip of coffee, fiddling with the vial again.

…..

The water was hot, almost scalding.

Just the way Dipper liked it.

He leaned back, tipping his head up to let the water wash the shampoo from his hair. His shoulder twinged at the movement, and he grimaced. He brought his hand up, kneading his thumb into the muscle. He’d been out most of the day, helping Soos with various errands from Melody. Loading stacks of white chairs into Soos’ truck must have done a number on his arm.

“Jeez.”

Don’t get the wrong idea; Dipper was more than happy to help his best friends get ready for the biggest day of their lives, but sometimes Soos forgot that Dipper wasn’t exactly as… capable as he was. Not to say he was weak! Just... his strengths were in other areas.

He dug harder into the muscle. His shoulder ached from the pressure, a deep warmth that spread through him like electricity.

Dipper let out a breath, almost a grunt, and shifted his arm around, moving the joint in slow circles. He shook his head, flicking wet hair out of his face and rubbing the water from his eyes.

He hummed and slowly swayed from side to side, enjoying the feel of the water running over him. The tiled walls echoed his humming back to him.

His necklace had managed to shift itself around, leaving the vial over his shoulder and the chain pressing against his throat, just enough to make him aware. Dipper reached over his shoulder and pulled the small glass bottle back to his front. It swung down and settled against his sternum.

 Dipper absently touched it, running his thumb along the side as he had so many times before. The blood inside was still as vivid red as it had been for a week, and maybe it was just his imagination but Dipper couldn’t remember it ever being cold. No matter how long he took it off for, the vial remained roughly the same temperature as Dipper’s skin. He let it slide, assuming it was just some demon thing. Right now, though, the idea sent a little thrill through Dipper’s stomach. This was _demon blood_. Actual blood from a demon.

A grin played across Dipper’s face. His chest felt weird and constricted, and his legs were tingling, and- _Oh_ , that was not just his legs tingling.

Dipper breathed out and looked down. There it was. An unauthorized boner. How inconsiderate.

For a half-second, Dipper actually considered ignoring it.

And then he stopped lying to himself and slid a hand down his stomach.

Despite the heat of the shower, goosebumps rose on Dipper’s skin, trailing after his fingertips. He ran a loose fist over the length of his cock, breathing out slowly. His tongue swiped at his lips, a nervous habit of he could never kick.

“ _Hah_ …”

Dipper’s legs were beginning to feel weak, and he leaned against the tiled wall.

The image of Bill pushed its way into his mind unbidden. Memories of Bill’s corpse settled over his skin like phantom sensations and he tightened his fist.

Dipper’s hips twitched forward in minute thrusts and he panted harshly, lost in the memory of pushing into Bill’s lifeless body while the demon floated beside him, watching.  Dipper almost swore he could hear Bill whispering in his ears, horrible filthy things that sent electric waves through his stomach.

A word bubbled up in Dipper’s chest, and he fought to stifle it without success. It came out in a broken, stuttering gasp.

“Please…”

God, that shouldn’t feel so good to say.

Dipper abandoned his pride and leaned an arm against the shower wall, hanging his head. Water streamed down his hair, surrounding his face as he chanted breathlessly.

“Please, please, _please_.”

A faint whisper, like a memory. Or maybe something else.

Dipper’s muscles froze, contracting tightly. The breath went out of him and He curled forward, shaking. Beneath his fingers he could feel the slight pulsing of his cock as he came.

The shower pounded over Dipper’s skin, washing away the evidence, and slowly, he started to relax. His adrenaline drained quickly, leaving Dipper with legs like jelly. Shakily, he lowered himself to the shower floor, sitting cross-legged under the water while his head came back to him.

Dipper sighed. An almost-smile tugged lazily at the corners of his mouth.

Eventually, the hot water ran out.

…

“Are you going to bed?”

Dipper yawned at the mere mention of bed.

“Sure am. M’exhausted,” he smiled sleepily.

Mabel returned the smile.

“Sames. I think I might actually be starting to hate ribbons.”

Dipper widened his eyes and gasped dramatically. Mabel giggled and bapped him on the shoulder.

“Good night, Dips. Don’t let the bed bugs bite!” she leaned in and lowered her voice. “For real, I think I saw a bug last night!”

Dipper laughed. “Go to bed, Mabel.”

“Yes, captain!” she saluted him and spun on her heel, trotting upstairs. Dipper watched her go, and turned to go to bed.

…

“You look happy.”

Dipper smiled and pushed open the monochrome bedroom door.

“I feel good.”

He left the room, Bill floating beside his shoulder and casting a slight golden glow over the mismatched walls.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Bill smirked. “You certainly had fun with my little gift.”

Dipper blushed, but gave a valiant effort to roll his eyes anyway. “You don’t know that.”

“I assure you,” Bill stared at Dipper, and his pupil contracted slightly, reminding Dipper of a cat’s eye. “I do.”

Dipper blinked. “I, uh.” He fumbled with his words.  “I mean, y-yeah, I know. I was just making a joke.”

Bill stared at him a moment longer, and burst out laughing.

“Ah, kid, I can’t believe you actually have a sense of humour buried in there somewhere! Man, you’re a strange one, you know that?”

Dipper nodded, staring at the walls as they walked. The hallway ended at an imposing pair of double doors, and Dipper gently nudged them open with his shoulder.

The room on the other side was big, reminiscent of a ballroom and only made bigger by the lack of furniture. The ceiling was high, and painted beautifully with some kind of mural that almost seemed to be alive.

No, wait.

It was alive! Alive? Or, moving at least. The monochromatic pictures shifted and changed before Dipper’s eyes, touching his mind with half-forgotten thoughts and scraps of memories. The overall effect was like looking at a storm cloud roll across the sky. 

“Hey,” Bill said, sharply. “Don’t stare at that thing too long, kid.”

“Why not?” Dipper murmured, still staring at the ceiling.

“Because you’ll get lost in it, or something. Quit it,” he slapped the side of Dipper’s head.

Dipper screwed his eyes shut and looked down, blinking them a few times before looking up at Bill’s impassive expression.

“Memories are a dangerous thing, kid. It’s too easy to let yourself slip away.”

Dipper nodded.

“Sorry. Thanks,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Don’t read into it.”

A somewhat awkward silence settled over the room, and Dipper reached up to fiddle with his necklace out of habit. The moment his fingers touched the lukewarm glass, he remembered the idea he’d had a few days ago, like an electric shock. He’d been so confident in his little plan, but now that the opportunity had presented itself, Dipper was actually nervous.

“I-“ his voice caught and he tried again.

“I wanted to repay you,” he said in a rush. Bill narrowed his eye.

“What do you mean ‘repay me’?”

“I mean-“ Dipper hesitated, trying to find a way to phrase it before giving up entirely. “Can you, like, not look for a moment? Just, turn around.”

Bill’s eye crinkled in something like amusement. “Whatever you say, kid.” He turned his back to Dipper, gazing up at the ceiling.

Once he was sure Bill wasn’t looking, Dipper set his mind to creating what he’d need. On the floor in front of him appeared a box, similar to the one Bill had conjured during their last… meeting.

Dipper sat down, crossing his legs and reaching to open the box. Inside was exactly what he’d imagined- a small scalpel and an empty vial, identical to the one around his neck.

Once again, Dipper wondered whether this was a good idea. He picked up the scalpel and looked at it, half staring at nothing.

Well, he’s come this far.

He picked up the vial- tried to. His fingers were shaking, and it slipped out of his grip. Dipper cursed under his breath and wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans. He picked up the vial again and curled his pinky around his so he could use his other fingers to hold the scalpel. Then it occurred to him that was a stupid idea and he put the vial back down.

_Jesus, get it together._

Taking a deep breath, Dipper touched the point of the scalpel into his palm. He pushed it into the muscle, grunting at the spike of pain. Focusing on breathing out slowly, he dragged the blade downwards about an inch. A line of striking red welled up and began to pool. Cupping his injured hand slightly so the blood wouldn’t drip, Dipper dropped the scalpel and picked up the vial. He pressed the lip of it against his palm, right under the end of the wound. The blood beaded and streamed down like rain on a windshield. After a few moments, the small glass bottle was almost full, and Dipper willed the cut to heal. The flesh knitted together and the immediate relief from pain was noticeable, but the blood on his skin remained. Dipper didn’t give it a second thought, and he picked up the stopper and pushed it into the top of the vial.

Kicking the box aside, he got to his feet.

Before he could second guess himself again, Dipper stepped forward, holding the vial behind his back.

“Okay, turn around.”

Bill turned to face him, looking more than a little curious.

“So, to explain, after you gave me that blood I had an idea and then I kept thinking about it and then- uh, hold out your hand.” Dipper rambled.

Bill said nothing, extending his hand and holding it with the palm flat, facing the ceiling.

“This- this is probably stupid, but, here,” Dipper said, dropping the vial of his own blood into Bill’s outstretched hand.

Bill brought his hand back, looking closely at the tiny bottle.

Within the space of a second the jovial expression had dropped off of Bill’s face, and his pupil had contracted into a tiny dot.

Dipper’s stomach went ice cold and he stepped back. “Um...”

Bill’s stare slowly dragged from the bottle in his palm up to Dipper’s face. When he spoke, his voice was low, lower than Dipper had ever heard it.

“ _You shouldn’t have done that_.”

Dipper flinched. “Wh-“

His question was interrupted by the sound of glass shattering, loud as a gunshot in the empty room.

Bill’s fist had tightened, crushing the vial. Dipper watched as the blood leaked down Bill’s arm before… Dipper blinked. It was soaking into Bills flesh, disappearing right before his eyes.

Dipper looked up and his stomach clenched. Bill was still staring at him, but his pupil had dilated dramatically, leaving his eye almost entirely black. They stared at each other for a moment until Dipper couldn’t bear to look any longer, and he broke eye contact, glancing at his feet.

He looked back up and screamed.

Bill was an inch from his face.

Bill’s hands were around his wrists before he could move away. His fingers felt like claws on Dipper’s wrist, strong as a vice.

“You’re an idiot,” he hissed. He yanked Dipper’s bloodied hand up and twisted his own, forcefully threading his fingers through Dipper’s in a sick caricature of holding hands. Bill closed his eye, briefly, then let go.

Dipper’s hand came away clean, all trace of blood gone.

He tried to jerk back, out of Bill’s grip, but he wasn’t strong enough. He ended up standing sideways, as far back as his arm would let him.

“What the heck is happening with you, Bill?” He yelped.

“It’s not enough.”

“W-what?”

“It’s not ENOUGH!” Bill roared. With a flick of his wrist, he threw Dipper a few metres until he slammed into a wall, knocking the breath out of him.

Dipper slid to the floor, gasping pathetically. Bill hovered above him, staring down as something like smoke dripped from his fingertips and pooled on the floor beneath him. It surrounded Dipper, creeping up his skin like a blanket. Dipper swiped at it weakly, still trying to catch his breath. His fingers simply passed through it like nothing, and he switched tactics.

Dipper’s legs were shaking badly, but the rush of adrenaline pushed him up. He darted forward, only to be tripped up by something around his ankles. He crashed to the ground, curling up into a ball out of reflex.

He lay there, terrified, the pounding of his heart shaking his entire body, and waited to die.

Nothing happened.

“Stand up.” Bill said, quietly but firmly.

Dipper got slowly to his feet, clutching his arms. He dared a glance up at Bill.

Bill’s pupil had shrunk, somewhat. Nowhere near normal size, still, but not quite as… intense as It had been.

“Give me your hands.” He commanded. His voice sounded strained, and Dipper weakly held his wrists out in front of himself. Again, Bill gripped them, pulling them above Dipper’s head. Firmly, he led Dipper backwards, until his back was once again against the wall.

The blackness slid over Bill’s fingers and curled up Dipper’s wrists. Bill took his hands away, but Dipper’s arms remained pinned over his head, held in place by whatever that dark stuff was.

“Let’s get one thing straight.”

Dipper flinched and looked at the ground. Bill gripped Dipper’s chin and jerked his head back up.

“Never, ever voluntarily give your blood to a demon, Pines.” He breathed. “Especially one like me.”

Bill gripped Dipper’s shoulders, digging his nails (claws?) in, not enough to break the skin but enough to set Dipper’s nerves on fire.

“I can’t- I need your permission for this,” Bill ground out.

“F-for what?”

“I need more of it, just once. Just- let me have it. You won’t even die, I promise. Just say yes.” The hands on Dipper’s shouldered burned impossibly cold, and a blue glow licked at the edges of his vision. Dipper knew what that meant.

“I-“ Dipper broke off coughing. “Why? You just told me not to!”

“Because I need it!” Bill growled. “I’ll give you something. A favour or something, I don’t care! Do we have a deal?” Bill’s fingers tightened on his shoulders.

Dipper licked his lips nervously. “This doesn’t seem like a good idea,” he admitted. Bill’s hands pulled back sharply, but the stuff around Dipper’s wrists stayed in place.

“You owe me this.” Bill’s eye flicked from Dipper’s face to his wrists. “I’m the reason you get to live out your fantasies, I’m the one who gave you everything-“ Bill paused and closed his eye, sighing. When he spoke again, the anger had drained from his voice, but Dipper could still hear the strain behind his words.

“Let me rephrase. Kid, when you give blood to a demon, _willingly_ , it’s like- for a human, it’d be like offering a hit to a junkie, okay? It’s just... hard to resist. The only way to get more from you would be to kill you,” Dipper flinched, “Or make a deal. You would not believe the amount of self-control I’m demonstrating right now,” Bill said with a bitter laugh.

“I like you, Pines, and I’d rather not kill you. Not if I don’t have to.”

Dipper flexed his fingers. They were starting to tingle slightly.

“Would it... hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Dipper chewed his lip. “A lot?”

“Probably.”

“Oh.”

“If it helps, I’ll make sure your physical body is fine. You might be a bit woozy when you wake up, though.”

Dipper flexed his fingers again. His fingertips were starting to feel numb. Suddenly, the smoke(?) around his wrists dissipated, and the sudden shift of gravity made Dipper stumble forward. Bill caught him by the shoulder and straightened him up.

He held out a hand, engulfed in blue flame.

“Do we have a deal?” he hummed. “You’re running out of time here, kid.”

Dipper twisted his fingers, trying to get rid of the pins and needles that were creeping up his skin.

“Just to make sure, you can’t kill me, right?”

Bill rolled his eye and grunted impatiently.

“No, you won’t die. And before you ask, no, I won’t need all your blood. Trust me; you’ll know when I have enough.”

Dipper stared at Bill’s outstretched hand, watching the cobalt flames dance.

“I... okay.” He murmured.

Dipper reached forward and took Bill’s hand. The fire spread up his arm, and some tiny part of Dipper’s mind was irritated that it made his fingers turn numb again. He’d only just got the feeling back!

Before he could let go, Bill’s grip tightened, and he pulled Dipper forward.

“Yesss,’ he hissed, leaning in close. “Finally.”

Dipper let himself be moved, just watching and holding his breath while Bill turned his wrists upwards and raised them slightly.

Bill’s fingers sharpened flatly, reminding Dipper of the scalpel he’d used just a little while ago. The slid smoothly down his wrists, and Dipper didn’t even notice they’d been slicing through the skin until the blood welled up. Then the pain hit.

Dipper hissed and jerked back, a primal reaction to pain. His wrists remained firmly in Bill’s grip.

His arms throbbed, stinging sharply. The cuts were shallow and short, missing any of the major veins. 

Slowly, Bill’s hands slid back over the cuts.  Just like before, Dipper’s blood seemed to absorb right into Bill’s flesh, leaving no trace behind.  Bill made a noise, like a low, drawn-out moan, and Dipper’s eyes widened fractionally. 

“Are you-“

“Shut up, I’m trying to enjoy this.”

Dipper closed his mouth and watched as Bill put pressure on his arms, forcing more blood out and swiping it up. He carried on like that for a while, adding new cuts when the old ones refused to give any more. Dipper, as he was told, stayed silent, save for the quiet hissing and gasps every so often.

After a while, Bill spoke.

“Kid, this is... intoxicating,” he breathed, “but I’m gonna need a little more. Let’s see, where else…” Bill’s eye flicked up and down Dipper’s body (a vivid blush was spreading over his skin and oh, what a treat that sight was) before landing on his shirt.

“Oh, riiight.” Bill drawled maliciously. His claws made short work of the cloth, tearing it straight down the middle. Dipper flinched back.

“Don’t look for a second.”

Dipper followed the instruction without question, looking up before remembering he wasn’t supposed to look at the ceiling. He closed his eyes instead.

A small yelp escaped him when he felt something sharp on his stomach. Bill.

Bill’s claw traced over his stomach, leaving shallow wounds easily. He drew something- Dipper thought he felt a circle, and then he was lost. After a moment, Bill tapped his shoulder. Dipper looked down.

Cut into his stomach was an inverted pentagram, already smeared with blood. Dipper looked back up at Bill and gaped.

“You like it?” Bill sang. “Just a little present in return for doing that to me!”

Dipper struggled to understand.

“I... drew a pentagram on you?”

Bill rolled his eye. “Not a pentagram, genius.”

Oh, the-

“You mean- the cross? That was an accident!” Dipper argued.

“Well then, so was this.” Bill slid a hand over Dipper’s stomach, collecting the blood that was starting to dry. Dipper sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“You asshole.”

Bill laughed.

“You like it, though.”

Dipper was silent.

Without warning, Bill clasped his shoulder with one hand and drove the fingers of the other into Dipper’s stomach, just an inch or so.

Dipper screamed at the same time that Bill moaned.

“AGH!” he screeched, doubling over. Or, trying to. Bill’s hand on his shoulder held him upright, so he ended up just kind of knocking his forehead against the flat surface of Bill’s body. He reeled back.

“Your blood is so strange,” Bill murmured huskily. “It’s sweet, but with a kind of bitter note at the end. I could take it forever.”

Dipper was mildly distracted by the intense pain, so forgive his lack of response. He made a few pathetic whining noises, and Bill sighed, removing his fingers.

“Humans are so frail, it’s ridiculous.”

He passed a hand over the wound, collecting the last of the blood and numbing it or something. At any rate, the sudden lack of pain was a like a breath of fresh for Dipper, and his whole body relaxed.

“What the fuck was that?” he panted, glaring fiercely at Bill.

“Hey, we only agreed I wouldn’t kill you. That’s quite possibly the vaguest thing you could have said- there’s oh-so-many ways I can get you right there, right to the edge, and keep you there.”

Dipper shivered, only slightly. Bill was talking about maiming him, of course he was, but… something about the way he phrased it just struck a chord in Dipper.

“W-well- can’t you find a less painful way to do it?” he stammered.

“Of course I could,” Bill smirked, lowering his voice.

“But you should ask nicely.”

Oh my god.

“Bill, please can you drain my blood as painlessly as possible.” Dipper huffed.

“Why, certainly, my dear Pine Tree! If you’d be so kind as to pass me those wrists of yours again, I shall do just that!”

Grumbling, Dipper offered his hands up to Bill. The claw that sliced his left wrist was so thin he didn’t even feel it for a moment.

The pain was sharper than the first cuts, but in comparison to earlier it was nothing. Dipper watched, mesmerized, as the blood welled up thickly, threatening to spill. He was reminded of cutting Bill’s throat, and the thought rang through him like a note through a tuning fork.

Bill’s fingers latched on to his wrist before the blood could drip to the floor, and the sigh that came from him made Dipper’s ears feel hot.

“Oh, wow,” Bill groaned. “I haven’t felt this good in forever. You’re a real treat, kid.”

“O-okay,” Dipper bit his lip. Fuck, he was getting woozy. And hot.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And then Dipper had another idea.

And, like most of his ideas, it was a terrible one.

So of course he decided to go for it.

“Can I try something?”

Bill made a faint noise of assent, barely paying attention. His pupil was locked on Dipper’s wrist, on the sluggish stream of blood that ran over Bill’s fingers, disappearing in the black.

Dipper hesitated, tracing his tongue around his teeth. Should he really…?

Okay yes.

N-yes.

_Just do it!_

Before he could let himself think about it, Dipper bit down.

Fucking CHRIST that hurt.

Immediately, Dipper the coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth. Dipper pressed his injured tongue to the roof of his mouth, feeling the gash he’d made. God, what if he’d bit completely through his tongue? Suddenly, a wave of nausea rolled through Dipper’s stomach. He had to move fast.

With as strong a grip he could muster in his slightly weakened state, Dipper grabbed Bill’s wrist and pulled himself forward.

He stuck his tongue out and licked. A long, flat stroke, up the length of Bill’s front, ending beside his bow tie and leaving a sanguine trail like a stroke of paint.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Dipper froze, expecting sudden death, or at the very least gradual maiming.

Bill stared at him.

Dipper stared back.

And then Bill laughed.

“Oh, kid, you are _devious!_ ” he purred. The blood Dipper had left on him dissipated, and Bill closed his eye with a low moan.

“You sure you’re not part demon, pines? Cause that’s some serious evil, right there.”

Dipper smiled weakly. His mouth was already filling with blood again, and his tongue was throbbing sharply but damn, if he didn’t feel a little proud of himself.

“Do it again,” Bill growled.

Leaning forward again, Dipper twisted his tongue, collecting more of the fluid pooling in his jaw, and licked it up the length of Bill’s front.

The growl that reverberated through Bill vibrated on Dipper’s tongue.

 Now that he was able to take his time, Dipper couldn’t help noticing the slight texture of the brick pattern on Bill’s body. Pointing his tongue slightly, he traced the lines of it, leaving trails of red that were soon consumed.

Bill made a noise like panting and tightened his grip on Dipper’s torn wrist. The other hand moved up to his hair, grabbing a handful and pulling Dipper’s face almost flush against his front.

“Just a little more, okay, kid? Just- just a bit more,” he rumbled, almost a gasp.

Dipper took a breath and opened his mouth wide, licking a thick mixture of blood and saliva along Bill’s surface. Bill’s hands on his head and wrist clutched tighter, breaking the skin. Pain pricked across Dipper’s scalp and he grunted.

Bill groaned lowly, and closed his eye.

After a moment, Dipper was released. He stumbled back slightly, and lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. His head was seriously spinning, and his limbs felt like lead. He looked up at Bill.

Bill was watching him with an expression Dipper had a hard time placing, and his lack of facial features wasn’t a great help. He almost looked… sad? No, not quite. Apprehensive, maybe.

“Listen, Dipper. I’m gonna cut this short before you bleed out or something. Just... look, all actions have consequences, okay? So just… remember that.”

Dipper wiped his bloodied mouth, intending to ask what Bill meant, but before he could Bill turned away and darkness followed.

…..

When he woke up, the first thing Dipper did was stick his tongue out.

Yep, totally uninjured.

He sat up and checked his arms, then his stomach. All completely uninjured, just like Bill had said. And- yep, head rush. Shouldn’t’ve sat up so fast.

Slowly, Dipper shuffled out of bed and treaded upstairs. No one else seemed to be awake yet. Glancing out the kitchen window, he realized the sun was only just starting to rise. The trees that marked the edge of the forest glowed brilliant orange, and Dipper just stopped to look for a moment.

A nagging feeling swirled in the pit of Dipper’s stomach. What had Bill told him? “ _Actions have consequences_ ”?

Dipper frowned. Something about that made chest feel cold.

Somewhere above him, the floorboards creaked. Mabel must be awake.

Sighing, Dipper pushed it to the back of his mind and turned the coffeemaker on.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok tell me how gross i am plz thnak u bye

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes, amiright folks


End file.
